


Drunken One-Night Stands Means Nothing (Right?)

by DevilishKurumi



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Awkward Sexual Situations, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-07
Updated: 2011-11-07
Packaged: 2017-10-25 19:36:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/273971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DevilishKurumi/pseuds/DevilishKurumi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two years after the battle at Hogwarts, Ron runs into a drunk Malfoy and decides to be a Gryffindor about it.  Unsurprisingly, this ends up being the dumbest thing he's done in recent history.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drunken One-Night Stands Means Nothing (Right?)

**Author's Note:**

> First written & published in 2009. I've been working on a sequel since then, so... yeah. That's a thing that might happen one day. Maybe.

            If Ron had known how the night was going to go, he would have turned away from the Leaky Cauldron before even stepping foot inside.  Instead, he had walked into the Cauldron without worry; this would prove to be a mistake.

            Amongst the hustle and bustle of the lively pub, Ron had noticed that the darkened corner that usually served as home for several rowdy warlocks was being occupied by one singular entity, sitting alone and nursing what looked to be brandy.  Malfoy’s pale face, long nose and blond hair were unmistakable and Ron had the sudden urge to go over there and rub everything in his face.  After all, how often would he get this chance?

            Sauntering over to the table had been the easiest part, but when Malfoy looked up with red eyes and a dull, completely plastered expression on his face, Ron found that he couldn’t quite sum up the courage to lash out at the other.  And why should he?  The poor idiot looked like he’d been through the wringer and it wasn’t very Gryffindor to kick someone when they were down, now was it?

            A sudden burst of sympathy brought on by two years of not having to deal with Malfoy’s constant jibes made him pull out the seat across the table, folding into it and waving over for a glass of “whatever he’s having.”

            Malfoy gave him an annoyed, drunk look and asked quite plainly, “What in the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?”

            “I wanted a drink and all the other tables are full,” Ron responded, though this wasn’t exactly the case – there were three tables right nearby which were utterly empty.  Still, Malfoy made no real effort to make him leave, and so he ended up having one drink with the slimy git.  Just one drink turned into two, then three, and Ron found himself unloading on the other in a similar matter as he had with his brother, who was practically useless at the whole comforting thing anyway.  Malfoy, for his part, only listened and nodded along in the way drunken people do when they can only understand half of what you’re saying.

            The affirmation, sober or not, was still greatly appreciated and soon Ron found himself asking about Malfoy’s own situation; specifically, “Why are you holed up in this place smelling like a wino?”  Malfoy was relatively less forthright, mentioning only his father’s recent return from Azkaban and what he called “phantom pains,” but Ron could see that it was more than what Malfoy had unloaded before and took it at face value.

            Ron was up to his fifth drink and Malfoy his much higher number when the Slytherin had stood and thrown some money onto the table – enough to cover both of their tabs and then some.  It was wasteful and Ron had half a mind to throw his part of the tab back at Malfoy.  Instead, to settle his debt, he stood and helped Malfoy out of the Cauldron and into Diagon Alley, where they looked like two drunken mates stumbling around for something to eat.

            Somewhere along the way, Ron and Malfoy began talking about things that both of them had forgotten in their sobriety; things like being turned into ferrets, duels, late night chases around the castle – things that were relatively safe territory, given the fact that Malfoy had gone so horribly wrong during their sixth year.  Ron found to his mild horror that he and Malfoy were looking back on their shared memories with the same general attitude: “We were right idiots when we were kids.”

            Ron didn’t bother to complain when Malfoy threw his arm over his shoulder, using the taller man as a wall to steady himself against.  “You’re going to regret drinking so much,” Ron found himself slurring.

            “Maybe,” Malfoy responded with a smirk on his face, “But once I get home, I won’t even remember.  Won’t be a problem.”

            “And how, exactly, are you getting home, Malfoy?”

            The Slytherin waved away the question.  “I’ll figure something out.  The Knight Bus?”

            The idea of sitting on that blasted bus while drunk – especially as drunk as Ron and Malfoy had to be – set the redhead’s hair on end and made him wont to vomit right there.  “No,” he said, and he straightened himself up – being the more sober of the two – and tried his hand at apparating the both of them to Malfoy Manor.

            It was only by sheer luck that they weren’t splinched, but Ron had been concentrating very hard on the Manor – specifically, a bed where he could dump Malfoy so that the idiot could sleep off the hangover he was going to have.  Being as it was, Ron’s concentration landed them in a hallway of the manor, two steps away from a thick stone wall that Ron felt could have been their destination.  It wasn’t the most polite thing to do, but Malfoy didn’t seem to mind and Ron was too plastered to be polite anyway.

            Malfoy didn’t particularly appreciate the journey; he cupped his hands over his mouth and nearly threw up in the hallway.  Ron gave him a rough pat on the back and pushed him towards the nearest door; it turned out to be a study larger than his kitchen.  Malfoy hooked an arm over his shoulders and used his support to make it over to the next door over.  The room there wasn’t small by any means, but it was very plain – as if Malfoy had been packing up old things and leaving only the bare necessities.  The four poster bed was large, but it wasn’t so grand that it would seem ornate, and that kind of surprised Ron.

            The Slytherin shoved away from Ron and staggered to the bed, falling face-first into the pillows.  “You can’t just sleep like that!” Ron found himself exclaiming, “You’ll drown in your own vomit!”

            “Sod off,” came Malfoy’s muffled reply, but the dismissal did nothing.  Ron stumbled over to the bed and found that he had to put a knee up on the mattress to even reach the blond, pushing him until he was rolled over onto his side.  His eyes opened and it was then that Ron realized that he was alone with the other in Malfoy’s room, in the relative dark (the open curtains allowed for some outside light, but not much).

            Before Ron could let the situation get to him, Malfoy groaned and rolled over so that his back was facing the redhead.  “You were right,” he mumbled, “Already regretting it.”

            “The room spinning?” Ron asked, trying desperately to ignore the sudden rise in his voice.  Malfoy made a noncommittal sound.

            “More like everything aches,” he grumbled.  Ron had never heard of aches and pains while drunk but then again, he didn’t do much research into it.  He reached out a hand and gave Malfoy’s shoulder an experimental squeeze; the muscles were tight and Malfoy groaned appreciatively at the touch.  Ron found that he liked the sound because it made him think he was actually helping for once, instead of providing backup or comic relief.  So, he shifted up and pressed his hand into the dip between Malfoy’s shoulder blades, earning another groan and a shift forward.  It was strange to be this close to the other without there being some sort of arguing going on, but Ron didn’t really mind it.  He pressed his hand down the other’s back, hard at first but then softer, until he was just kind of... running his hands along the bumps of Malfoy’s spine.  He could feel a lot of tension that was still there and so he shifted forward to get a better grip.

            He felt Malfoy beginning to shift but he didn’t move; when his hand went up to Malfoy’s neck, the other paused and exhaled in almost a sigh.  Ron’s whole body felt a little tingly, like he was doing something particularly good for a friend but not quite.  The nape of Malfoy’s neck was where his hair was cut shortest, and the blond stubble was surprisingly soft.  Malfoy mumbled something and Ron swallowed; his mouth felt dry even though he knew it shouldn’t have been.

            Ron felt tension entering the tendons of Malfoy’s neck and so he moved his hand to press into them; Malfoy’s head tilted and moved to expose more of his neck.  He found that his hand was moving more and he swallowed again.  “Malfoy,” he said.

            “Shut up,” the blond responded and so he bit his lip, watching as the other twisted onto his back.  His hands seemed to have a mind of their own; he couldn’t stop them from running across the other’s collarbone, Malfoy’s button-down shirt just unbuttoned enough to make for skin-on-skin contact.  Though he couldn’t look Malfoy in the eye, he could feel the other’s eyes locked on him and while mildly concerning, Ron found it didn’t quite matter.  His own gaze was fixed on his hands, rubbing what were probably supposed to be comforting circles along Malfoy’s chest, and then to his stomach.  This was ridiculous and insane and stupid, but still his hands moved, his drunken mind telling him what he did wrong moments after doing it.

            He shifted on the bed, legs folded underneath him, and Malfoy exhaled; a long, low sigh that sounded like how Ron felt.  It was a little comforting that they were both feeling the same way about this sudden change from lightly ribbing comments to whatever this was supposed to develop in to.  He chanced a glance to Malfoy’s face and his face turned red at the closed eyes and half-open mouth, every part of him set ablaze by the sight of the other’s tongue sliding over his lower lip.

            Oh, this was bad.

            Somewhere along the way his hands had moved to Malfoy’s thigh and Ron watched Malfoy’s expression turn into one of mortification, even as he turned his head away and shifted his knees apart just a bit.  It was an invitation and both of them knew it, and all Ron had wanted was to see his brother, have a drink at the pub, and head home.  Instead, his hand was gripping the pull on Malfoy’s zipper, almost like he was going to let go at any second, and the Slytherin opened his eyes only long enough to read the hesitance and nod.  When Ron began to pull, his eyes slid shut again, leaving the redhead to watch his own movements alone.  Tooth by tooth, second by second the zipper came apart and Ron swallowed heavily without thinking of how noisy that usually sounded.

            Somewhere during the course of the evening Malfoy had gotten hard – more than Ron could get with the amount of alcohol the two of them had consumed – and it barely took any effort at all to take Malfoy out of his pants.  He was morbidly pleased by the fact that he seemed to be bigger – it was a cheap victory against someone who constantly made his life hell, but a victory nonetheless – but only the knots in his stomach remained after Malfoy made a hissing, consonant-filled noise.  The sudden realization that this was _Malfoy_ of all people, and he was going to –

            The whiskey in his system must have been what made him wrap his hand around Malfoy’s cock and give a squeeze, but it was instinct that made his fist begin to pump after he saw how high Malfoy’s hips could move from the bedspread and how far apart he was willing to fold his knees.  He couldn’t deny that Malfoy wasn’t really all that ugly – his face was average, more like, a little pinched – and when the other’s hand reached out to grip his thigh, Ron gave a little moan and worked his hand quicker.

            It was awkward, the grip and all, and the sounds Malfoy made – quiet and breathless as they were – only kept him in the moment, instead of letting him disengage.  He couldn’t ignore the situation, not with the hand on his thigh, twisting against his jeans and definitely not with the noises.  He was sitting on the edge of Malfoy’s surprisingly simple four-poster bed, in the heart of Malfoy Manor two years after he had been held prisoner in the basement, and he was jacking off his sworn enemy.  It was almost enough to make him laugh, or maybe make him sick.

            Ron risked a glance up to Malfoy’s face and found, to his shock, that the other looked terrified – or not terrified, since he had never seen the expression on the other’s face and probably never would.  He nearly stopped, but it didn’t seem like it was the situation that was worrying Malfoy and really, he didn’t feel like he could stop.  Malfoy mouthed something but it was lost to Ron, who couldn’t read lips, and so he just shifted his hand.

            The look faded from Malfoy’s face, turning into one of almost irritated horniness – getting drunk before fooling around was a sure way to make the going tough – and Ron found himself stumbling over his words before he could stop and rein them in.  “Can I kiss you?”

            His voice was scratchy and hoarse and just a touch squeakier than he’d have liked it; Malfoy looked at him and managed to look exasperated even when bucking his hips into Ron’s hand.  After a moment, he nodded, and now that Ron had permission he almost didn’t want to.

            His first move after leaning in towards Malfoy’s face was to knock his teeth into the other’s with a painful crack.  Malfoy yelped and Ron couldn’t help but stammer out an apology, going so far as to give the hollow junction of Malfoy’s jaw and neck a peck.  It was a little too romantic but he had his hand in the other’s pants, so he imagined some amount of romanticism wouldn’t be amiss.

            The second try went off a bit better, though it was awkward and Malfoy gagged a little on his tongue at first – he never had been very good at this making out thing.  Malfoy’s hand sank into Ron’s hair and the tug sent an electrical current straight down his back and into his gut.  He groaned into Malfoy’s mouth and got another tug in response, and when they pulled apart their mouths were shiny with saliva and Ron had somehow moved to straddle Malfoy’s thigh.  The Slytherin dragged his nails through Ron’s hair and pressed his leg up against the redhead’s slowly hardening shaft; Ron found himself grinding against Malfoy’s slacks even as his hand pumped furiously underneath him.

            Ron’s being bigger didn’t save him from being quicker, and it only took a few minutes of dry humping before he came in his jeans with a groan of satisfaction.  He glanced at Malfoy and saw him looking a mix of disgusted and enthralled, so he leaned down to bite at the other’s throat and keep him distracted.  It surprised Ron that it was the wet tongue along Malfoy’s neck up to the spot behind his earlobe that made the Slytherin release with a shout; even more surprising was when Malfoy grabbed him by the hair and kept them pressed together, both sweaty and filthy.

            Ron did his best not to move at first, but after five minutes of sucking on Malfoy’s earlobe he was ready to pack up and leave.  He was very tired all of a sudden and Malfoy was just a reminder of something that he was going to need to forget right fast if he wanted to survive the rest of his life without shame.  When he finally did pull away, he was aghast to see that Malfoy’s closed eyes had wet lashes.

            Malfoy let him go after a moment and Ron was quick to slide off the bed, skin hypersensitive without someone grabbing hold of him.  “Uh,” he began – but he couldn’t think of what to say.  He straightened his shirt and counted to ten before turning to look at Malfoy, who he found to be passed out on his side.

            He paused for a moment and then, unable to decide what to do, apparated away before his thoughts got away with him.  Malfoy didn’t hear him leave.


End file.
